


The Medicine of Life

by fhsa_archivist



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-16
Updated: 2005-03-16
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: The obligatory post-Antarctica story.





	The Medicine of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

_A faithful friend is the medicine of life." The Bible, Ecclesiasticus 6:16_

 

Cyke is a clever little shit. 'Course, if you tell him I said that, I'll have to kill you. It was all his idea, y'see. He insisted that I 'check' on Gambit. Said he was worried, that he didn't think the kid was eating or sleeping. 

 

Well, big surprise there, One-Eye. The kid gets left for dead in a frozen wasteland, makes his way home, and you banish him to the boathouse? 

 

That,Cyclops insisted, was for LeBeau's protection. The others - Rogue and Warren, to be specific - were still mistrustful of him. He was afraid, he said, that their attitude would affect the kid adversely.>

 

I suggested he go check on Gambit himself. 

 

Oh no, he disagreed firmly. Gambit was convinced that everyone hated him. As it was a well-known fact that I never, ever bothered to lie about how I felt towards another, be he human or mutant or whatever, I should be the one to go down and see if he was doing all right. 

 

I put up a good argument for the sake of appearances, but in the end, I gave in. Mostly because I *was* pretty worried about the kid. That, by the way, is another thing you're not allowed to tell Cyclops. 

 

Once the mansion had quieted for the evening, the kids in their rooms 'studying', most of the resident X-Men slouched in the parlor watching the television, and the rest playing what sounded like a lively game of poker, I set off for the boathouse. My tendency to wander the grounds at night prevented any curiosity about my departure. 

 

Except for Scott and Jean, of course. Both gave me approving looks, assuming that I was going down to check up on our resident Cajun. A smile for Jeannie, a curl of the lip to Cyke, and I was on my way... 

 

Slowly, I approached the boathouse. Peered in a window, but saw no sign of Gambit. Okay. More direct action was called for here. I marched up to the door and knocked. 

Nothing. 

 

Dammit, I knew he was in there, I could smell him. So I knocked louder. 

 

Still nothing. 

 

"Gambit!" I yelled. "I know yer there, kid. Open up." 

 

Silence. 

 

"I'll kick it in," I warned. 

 

"Door ain' locked." 

 

Finally, a response. I turned the knob and entered. And nearly passed out from the heat within the small structure. Not only did he have a fire blazing in the fireplace, he must have had the heat cranked to the max. 

 

Curled up on the floor in front of the fire, he was huddled inside of a heavy comforter. Shivering. *Shivering* fer godssake! 

 

Concerned, I moved in for a closer look at him. Damn, he looked bad. The skin on his face so pale that it was nearly translucent, heavy shadows under his eyes so dark they were almost black, and he'd lost so much weight that his cheekbones looked as though they might pop through his skin at any moment. 

 

"Ya sick, kid?" I asked with a frown. 

 

He tightened his hold on that comforter he'd wrapped around himself and shook his head. "Remy fine. Jus' tired." 

 

Uh huh. 

 

"When did ya last sleep, kid?" 

 

"Las' night." 

 

"Yer lyin' to me - I can smell it on ya. Now, let's try this again: when's the last time ya slept?" 

 

He shrugged. "Dunno. Coupla days ago, mebbe." 

 

"Nightmares?" 

 

Heavy sigh. "Oui." 

 

"Ya ain't been eating, either, have ya?" 

 

"Not hungry." I went into the kitchen and started rummaging. Talk about a bare cupboard! Christonacrutch, there was no food - I mean *nothing*. Not even a can of soup. 

 

Really worried by now and extremely pissed off that not one of us had even bothered to check up on him, I slammed the cabinet doors closed and stomped back into the living room. 

 

"What the hell are ya trying to do? There are easier ways to kill yourself, you know. Starvation takes one hell of a long time." 

 

The little bastard shrugged at me again. 

 

Okay. Enough already. "You," I said severely, pointing at him, "stay here. I'll be right back." 

 

No response. He just stared fixedly into the fire. 

 

*** 

 

Back at the mansion, I headed directly into the kitchen. Since I was dealing with a man who'd last eaten God only knows when, I selected foods that would be easily digestible: broth, saltine crackers, jello cups, eggs, and bread. Just as I was packing my finds into a box, Angel walked into the room. 

 

"Planning on running away from home, Wolverine?" he asked in that sarcastically snooty tone of his. The one that never failed to set my teeth on edge. 

 

"Fuck off, Wings." 

 

"What's your problem, asshole?" Now his voice was not only sarcastic and snooty, it was belligerent. 

 

Turning to face him, I allowed all of my rage to show in my expression. "'M warning ya, Worthington, one more word outa ya and I'll rip yer tongue right out of yer head." 

 

"Now look here, you-" 

 

Luckily for the flying wonder, Cyclops walked into the kitchen before I could carry through on my threat. He took in the situation with a glance and moved to stand between Worthington and me. 

 

"Cool it, you two." 

 

Neither of us broke off the glare we were exchanging. 

 

"I *said* cool it. NOW." I went back to placing the food into the box I'd located, but Warren-the-flying-asshole actually took a step closer to me. 'Cooling it' was apparently not a phrase he was familiar with. 

 

Cyclops shook his head at the fool. "Do as he says, Warren. Get out." 

 

"But-" 

 

"Out," Cyclops said in his best I'm-your-boss-and-you'd-damn-well-better-do-as-I-say voice. 

 

Mumbling under his breath about leaders with delusions of godhood and insanely dangerous half beast mutants, Worthington left. 

 

Scott turned back to me. "So?" he asked. 

 

"You were right. Kid ain't been eating or sleeping. He looks like shit." 

 

"And?" 

 

"And I'm gonna go back to the boathouse and feed him. Then he's gonna sleep, even if I have to knock him unconscious." 

 

"Should we have Hank take a look at him?" 

 

I hesitated for a moment. "No. At least, not yet. Ya know how he is about doctors. Let me see what I can do with him tonight. If he's no better tomorrow, we'll talk about it again." "You'll be staying at the boathouse?" 

 

"'Course. Can't leave the kid alone now. He's pretty shaky."He nodded his approval. "Check with me in the morning, and we'll decide where to go from there." 

 

*** 

 

Didn't look like he'd moved at all while I'd been gone. When I walked in, he did raise his head, looking mildly surprised to see me. 

 

Somehow, I suspected that he'd been lied to and let down so often in his life that trust and belief were not feelings he had any familiarity with. 

 

"Y' came back," he said softly. 

 

"Said I would, didn't I?" 

 

His expression grew curious. "Why y' here, Wolvie?" 

 

I decided that now was not a good time to make my usual objection to him calling me that. "'Cause yer sick, kid." 

 

Huddling even further into his comforter, he dropped his gaze to the fire. "Tol' y', Remy fine." 

 

"Yeah, well, ya'll be a lot better after ya get some food into yer stomach and a little sleep." 

 

"Not hungry," he said mulishly. 

 

I snorted. "Listen up, bub; I'm gonna make ya something to eat, and hungry or not, ya'll eat it or I'll pour it down yer throat." 

 

That almost got a rise out of him. Straightening his back, he frowned at me and opened his mouth to argue. I returned his stare with interest, not about to back down. Then, he just... deflated. Slumped back down and turned his head away. 

 

Damn. 

 

Oh well, I was willing to bet that he'd give me a fight when it came time to eat. At least he'd spoken to me. Shown curiosity about my presence in the boathouse. Now, if I could just get him to stop referring to himself in the third person... 

 

With a sigh, I went into the kitchen. After unpacking the foodstuffs, I opened a can of chicken broth and heated it in the microwave. 

 

Carrying a cup of broth, a package of saltines, and a mug of sweetened tea, I reentered the living room. Set the food on the coffee table and debated just how I wanted to tackle feeding him. 

 

He ignored me. Didn't even look up when I shoved an armchair and an end table close to the fireplace. I had a feeling that it would take more than a little work on my part to get the food into him, and damned if I was gonna chase him around the floor to accomplish my self-appointed task. 

 

When the furniture was rearranged to my satisfaction and the food laid out on the end table, I turned to stare at him, arms crossed on my chest. 

 

"Up," I ordered. 

 

Remy-the-silent had returned with a vengeance. He gave absolutely no sign that he heard me. Hell, he gave no sign that I was even in the room with him. 

 

I squatted down in front of him, stared at his averted face, and spoke firmly, "Get up and sit in the chair, Gumbo." 

 

Nothing. Not even a blink. 

 

"I moved it close to the fire for ya," I cajoled. 

 

Red on black eyes skittered past me to the chair, then back to the fire. "Non." 

 

"I made ya broth. And tea. C'mon, Remy. It'll be easier to eat if yer sittin' in the chair." 

 

"Wh-wha'd you call me?" 

 

"Called ya 'Remy'. 'S yer name, ain't it?" 

 

He frowned in confusion. "But, y' never... *no one* ever uses Remy's name. Cajun, Swamp Rat, Gumbo, never 'Remy'." 

 

"D'ya mind?" 

 

After a moment's thought, he shook his head. "Non. Jus' s'prised me." 

 

"Okay then, Remy, how about moving to that chair now?" 

 

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and shakily made his way to the chair. He ignored the food, instead staring at me with questions in his eyes. 

 

"What?" I asked when he continued to study me in silence. 

 

"Y' bein' nice to Remy." 

 

I shrugged. "Yeah, so?" 

 

"Pourquoi?" 

 

"'Cause I'm worried 'bout ya." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Yer my friend." 

 

My answer seemed to stun him. "Friend?" 

 

"Remy don' have any friends." 

 

"Well, ya have one," I informed him. "Now, eat." 

 

He made a face but reached out to pick up the soup. His hand shook so badly that he had to bring the other one out from under the comforter to avoid spilling the hot liquid all over himself. It took a while, but he managed to get down most of the broth and a couple of crackers. 

 

Setting the almost empty cup on the table, he looked at me for... what *was* he looking for? Approval, maybe? 

 

I smiled at him. "Good job, Remy. Think you can drink that tea now?" 

 

Nodding, he reached for the mug, cradling it between his hands. I was happy to see that he was no longer shivering, and the tremor in his hands had lessened noticeably. He sipped the tea, seemingly at peace with the silence between us. 

 

His eyelids started to droop, and I grinned. I'd get him to sleep, too. It's a well-kept secret that I'm one stubborn sonofabitch. He is, too - but the kid ain't in my league. I've had years and years of practice to perfect my technique. 

 

I quietly cleaned up, carrying the dishes into the kitchen, and putting them in the dishwasher. When I went back to Remy, he was half asleep. "C'mon, kid. Time fer bed." 

 

He sat up quickly and stared at me with wide and fearful eyes. "Non. Not tired. Can' sleep, Logan. Please." 

 

The poor kid was terrified. This I could understand. Nightmares - been there, done that. Way too often. 

 

"Remy, I know yer havin' nightmares. I get 'em myself, so I know how scary they can be. I'll be here, though. Would that help?" 

 

"Y'll stay?" 

 

"Yeah. That was my plan all along." 

 

With a look at the roaring fire, he shivered. "Be cold upstairs." 

 

"That's easy to fix. We'll sleep down here. Ya can have the couch, and I'll take the chair." 

 

"Non. Remy be fine right here." 

 

Not a chance, kiddo. "Ferget it, Remy. Ya need to stretch out and relax." 

 

I got up and shoved the couch a little closer to the fire. "There. Lie down. Now." 

 

That mulish expression reappeared. "Non." 

 

"Ya've lost weight, bub. Won't be any problem to pick you up and put you on the couch," I warned him. 

 

With a heavy sigh, and a great show of reluctance, he slowly moved to the sofa. "Happy now?" 

 

Ah, sarcasm. A good sign, I decided. "Ecstatic." 

 

He mumbled something under his breath in French. I strongly suspected it was not complimentary but wasn't sure. I know enough French to order food and ask for directions, that's about it. 

 

Ignoring him, I settled into the chair and closed my eyes. 

 

"Non. 'S cold. So cold. Don' leave me here!" 

 

I woke with a start as soon as he started yelling. Luckily I'm the type to awaken fully aware and able to move quickly. If not, Remy would have landed on the floor, the way he was thrashing about. I caught him just as he rolled off of the couch, and, I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I ended up on the couch. With Remy on my lap. 

 

"Easy, kid," I soothed. "Yer okay. Quiet down, now. 'M not gonna let anythin' bad happen to ya." 

 

It took a while before he calmed. Eventually, though, my soft words seemed to do the trick. With a deep sigh, he snuggled against me, tucking his head under my chin and wrapping his arms around my midsection. 

 

This was... not good. Not good at *all*, I realized, as my traitorous body reacted with enthusiasm. Hell, I never claimed to be a saint. I like sex. I like sex a lot. Whether my partner is male or female don't matter. I like the sounds, the smells, the closeness... the sheer joy of good sex. 

 

I just knew that Remy would be a fuck to end all fucks. The kid is drop dead gorgeous. Sex on two very long legs. And, since I'm baring my soul here, I'll admit that his accent turned me on from the very first time I heard him speak. 

 

Remy was sick, though. And, though I might have my suspicions, I had no way of knowing if the kid even had any inclinations towards sex with another man. He shifted against me, bringing his hip into aching contact with my cock. 

 

Moving with extreme caution, I attempted to lift him off of me and back onto the couch. "Logan?" he slurred. 

 

His eyes opened, then widened when he realized where he was. "Wha-" 

 

"Ya had a nightmare, Remy. I was just calming you down." 

 

"Oh." He looked up at me, then blushed. "How'd I get... here?" 

 

I couldn't help but notice that he was making no effort to remove himself from my lap. 

 

"Ya were fallin' offa the couch 'cause ya were rollin' around. I caught ya an, somehow, we ended up like this." 

 

"'Kay." He accepted my explanation with alarming ease. "Y' warm, Logan," he said, resting his head on my shoulder. 

 

Yeah, I'm warm. I'm hotter'n a firecracker with you sittin' on my cock. 

 

I shifted my weight, trying to ease the pressure on my groin. "Um, Remy..." 

 

He shot off of my lap with amazing speed. Standing in front of me, wringing his hands, he tried to apologize. "Remy sorry. Didn' mean to... Wasn't all the way awake." 

 

Looking anywhere but at me, he started backing away. 

 

"Hold on there, kid. I'm not mad at ya. I just... I... " With a grimace of self contempt, I waved one hand at my groin, bringing my embarrassingly obvious erection to his attention. 

 

"Oh," was all he said. But his lips curled up in a slight smile. He took one step towards me, paused, took another. "Dat for me?" 

 

"Well, you *were* the only person in my lap." 

 

His smile widened. "Y' like hommes, Logan?" 

 

"I swing both ways," I told him with a shrug. 

 

"An' you like Remy? Dat way?" 

 

"Yeah, I do." 

 

"C'est vrai?" He seemed stunned that I could be attracted to him. 

 

"Yer an empath, check fer yerself." 

 

Oh, he didn't like that at all. "How you know dat?" he asked suspiciously. 

 

"Remy, I know everyone thinks I ain't the brightest bulb on the tree, but I watch. I notice things. And I can add two and two just fine. I've known you were some kind of telepath fer a while now. Not like Jean and Chuck - somethin' to do with emotions." 

 

"Y' don' like telepat's, Logan. We *all* know dat much." The suspicion had faded into self-doubt and hesitation. 

 

I shrugged, hoping to set him at ease. "Long as they stay outa my head, they're okay. 'Sides, I never felt you trying to read me." 

 

"Remy wouldn' do dat." 

 

"I know. This time I'm givin' ya permission, kid. Go on, look and see how I feel 'bout ya." 

 

He stared at me for a moment, then his frown disappeared and his eyes widened. "Y' do. Y' really do want m'. Y' *like* m'." 

 

In that moment, I wanted to kill 'em all: every person who'd ever let him down or hurt him or lied to him. Had anyone ever *not* used him? Betrayed him? I'm not the most trusting person on the planet, but there are a few people I trust - people I call 'friend'. 

 

"Why y' upset, Wolvie?" 

 

Shit! He'd picked up on that, and just when he was starting to calm down. 

 

"'Cause ya've been treated badly in the past, Remy. I get pissed off when my friends get hurt." 

 

"Y'r frien'?" Carefully, he sat on the couch, about a foot away from me. When I simply smiled at him encouragingly, he leaned back against the cushions and seemed to relax a little. "I like dat. Bein' y'r frien'." 

 

"Good." I turned to face him, one leg tucked up under the other. "How do ya feel about me, kid?" 

 

It appeared I'd stunned him again. He stared at me, chewing on his lower lip. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. "Dunno what y' wan' m' to say," he finally whispered. 

 

"Do ya trust me?" 

 

He gave that careful consideration for a moment, then nodded. "Oui. Trust y' more dan anyone else I know." 

 

That was a relief. But... "Rem, do you... I mean, are you... Ever been with a man?" 

 

"Dat's a funny t'ing, Logan." He looked a little wistful. "I always preferred men - t'ink I'm gay - but, dey always wan' it rough. Dey hurt m'. So, I stop wit' de hommes. Tried wit' women, but did' like it much. Jus' din' feel right, y'know?" 

 

I chewed on that for a minute. "These men you were with... What did they do that you didn't like?" 

 

Tilting his head down, he effectively hid the expression in his eyes from me. "Day always t'ought I should be submissive. Wanted m' to lay dere an' jus' take it up de ass." 

 

He shrugged, glancing at me out or the corner of his eyes. "Sometimes it wasn' so bad - but, me, I like to touch, to kiss, to..." Big sigh. "I jus' always t'ought there should be more." 

 

"There is, Rem. A lot more." 

 

"Y'... Y'll show m'?" 

 

First reaction was: *YES!* Second was: Finally, I've got him relaxed enough to stop with that third person shit. Third... well, damn, how in the hell am I going to do this? Should I let him take the lead, show me what he's been wanting? Make love to him in the gentlest way possible, to demonstrate the possibilities? Just hold him tonight, show him that it doesn't always have to mean sex? 

 

Unable to resist any longer, I stretched my arm along the back of the couch and ran my fingers through his hair. "Yeah, kid, I'll show ya. But I need you to tell me what ya want, what you can handle. Yer pretty weak, y'know." 

 

He straightened in indignation. "I am *not* weak. I'm fine." 

 

"Uh huh." I looked at him severely. "Remy, ya haven't been sleepin' or eatin' fer I don't know how long. Yer skin and bones. I don't want to push this too far, too fast. We have plenty of time. I don't do one-nighters - not with friends. If we do this, it'll be because we both want to try a relationship. An', hurting you is the worst way to start that." 

 

Remy's head raised, and he turned to look at me in disbelief. "Did y' say 'relationship'?" 

 

I nodded. "Yeah, I did. If that's a problem for you, tell me now. I promise I won't get angry, and I'll still think of you as my friend." 

 

The auburn head lowered again. "I'd like dat. I would. Um, mebbe we could bring down some blankets and cuddle in front of the fire? See what happens?" 

 

Anyone tells Cyclops that the word 'cuddle' is even in my vocabulary and - you got - I kill 'em. 

 

Once I had the furniture pushed back from the fireplace, I carefully arranged the blankets and pillows I'd located. Then I proceeded to strip down to my skivvies. As a general rule, I sleep naked, but, all things considered, I didn't want to put any pressure on the kid. He was skittish enough as it was. 

 

I turned onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow. "This empathy of yours, can it go both ways?" 

 

"Oui. Why d'y' ask?" 

 

"I want ya to lower yer shields. Want ta know I'm not scarin' ya - want you ta know how much I care for ya - how much I want ya." 

 

He rolled closer to me, burying his head against my neck, but not before I saw a telltale sheen of tears in his eyes. Emotions - emotions not my own - filtered into my head: overwhelming gratitude, curiosity mixed with excitement, a tinge of fear, and, most interesting of all, a need to be loved that damn near brought tears to *my* eyes. 

 

Wrapping my arms around him, I kissed him somewhere in the vicinity of his ear, all the while letting him see how very much I wanted him, admired him, *trusted* him. 

 

"Logan?" 

 

"Yeah, darlin'?" 

 

"I wan' to... you won' mind if I touch y'?" 

 

"Anything you want, Rem. I'm all yours." 

 

He hesitated so long, I began to think that simply sleeping together might be best. Give him time to get used to the idea. Contrary to popular opinion, I can be very patient when properly motivated. 

 

Remy was definitely worth a little patience. 

 

"Rem, we don't hafta do anything tonight. Just holding ya would be more than enough fer me." 

 

"Non!" Rising up on one elbow, he watched my eyes as one hand rose to touch my face. Gently, he explored my features, tested the rasp of my heavy stubble, ruffled my thick sideburns. When those clever, clever fingers traced a line around my lips, I opened my mouth just enough to flick my tongue across the tip of one finger. 

 

He gasped, eyes opening wide, and the stirrings of his lust touched my mind. Of course, I thought, a thief would, of necessity, have sensitive fingers. I grinned and, after I'd finished tasting that digit, I moved on to the next... and the next... 

 

The near-silent gasps and moans that escaped him spurred me on, and I didn't stop until each and every one of the fingers on that hand had been thoroughly appreciated. 

 

"Ya taste mighty fine, Remy," I said quietly. "An' yer hands are pure magic on my skin." 

 

Definite upsurge of his lust at my words. This might just work, after all. Pushing the blanket down to my waist, I arched up towards him and pressed his hand to my chest. 

"More," I whispered. 

 

He blinked at me, then grinned. "Y' like?" 

 

"Yeah, darlin'. I like very much." 

 

A thorough exploration of my torso ensued. I sighed happily under his caresses and raised one hand to idly play with his hair. His fascination with my chest hair was both amusing and touching. Floating in a haze of pleasure, I gasped and tensed when he lowered his head and tentatively touched the tip of his tongue to one nipple. 

 

Wetting suddenly dry lips, I curved my hand around his neck and pressed him closer. "Yeah, Remy. That's... oh, that's nice." 

 

No one ever accused Remy LeBeau of being a slow learner. His mouth moved back and forth between my hardened nipples, licking, nibbling, and kissing the sensitive nubs. I could clearly feel his sense of pride, his joy that he could reduce me to a writhing, mumbling wreck with so little effort. 

 

Overlaying it all was his need for me. For satisfaction. 

 

When my balls crawled up close to my body and that familiar tingle started at the base of my spine, I pulled on his hair lightly. "Remy, wait. Gimme a minute here. Don't wanna come too soon." 

 

"But, I wan' y' t' come, Logan." 

 

"Oh, I want it, too, make no mistake about that. Want ya ta come with me, though." 

 

"Eh?" His curiosity and desire flowed through my mind. 

 

"C'mere." 

 

I shifted even closer to him, and urged him with trembling hands to move. "Lay on top of me, Rem. Wanna feel yer weight. Wanna kiss ya." 

 

Once he understood what I wanted, he moved to drape his length over me. Gasped when our erections pressed against each other. "Oh, Logan. C'est bon." 

 

Hands on his hips, I ground our groins together with a side-to-side motion. Couldn't help but smile at his dazed expression. "Oui, Remy. C'est tres bon." 

 

His surprise at my use of French disappeared rapidly as my hands guided him into a rhythmic motion against me. Once he grasped the idea, moving without any encouragement from me, I slipped one hand under his t-shirt to caress his smooth skin. 

The other hand moved back to his head. "Kiss me, Remy." 

 

While his experience with intimacy might have been limited, he'd obviously perfected the art of kissing. He explored my mouth with intense concentration, nearly blowing the top of my head off in the process. 

 

And, god*DAMN*, it... he... *we* were hot together. I'd had my share of good - even great - sex over the years, but I'd never been so quickly pushed to the edge of orgasm with such relatively innocent play. I hung there, tasting him, feeling him, reveling in him, for a timeless beat of my heart. 

 

His movements against me grew more urgent, less rhythmic, and he moaned loudly into my gasping mouth. 

 

"Logan!" he shouted/sobbed. Then he stilled, eyes closed in concentration, and I felt his cock pulsing against mine as he came. 

 

Ain't a person in the world that could hold out against that. My hands closed fiercely on his hips, and I arched up, releasing an orgasm that seemed to originate in the very tips of my toes. Every muscle in my body seized up in a rictus of pleasure, and I clutched at him convulsively. 

 

I believe he'd have been perfectly content to fall asleep right then and there. And, if I hadn't known exactly how difficult it would be to get dried semen out of my chest hair come morning, I would've let him do just that. 

 

But, I did know, and the prospect of scrubbing semen disguised as superglue from my torso got me moving. He grumbled something unintelligible when I gently rolled him to one side. 

 

"Hush, darlin'," I whispered. "Gonna get somethin' ta clean us up. Be right back." 

 

I haphazardly ran a washcloth over my chest and groin, then returned to him carrying a damp, warm cloth. A contented smile remained on his lips as I shifted his boneless body around, removing his shirt and briefs, and gently cleaning him up. 

 

As soon as I tossed the cloth aside and lay back down, Remy turned onto his side and settled against me, his head resting comfortably on my shoulder. 

 

"G'night, darlin'," I murmured into his hair. 

 

"Darlin'. Like dat, Logan. Darlin'." 

 

"Ya are, Remy. Yer my friend, my darlin', and my lover." 

 

He sighed contentedly. "G'night, cher." 

 

I fell asleep with a smile on my face. Pretty sure he did, too. Know fer a fact that he woke up smiling, 'cause I was there to see it. 

 

But that's another story for another day.


End file.
